


Swan Dive

by strandedchesspiece



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Clay whump, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 23:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20590742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strandedchesspiece/pseuds/strandedchesspiece
Summary: Clay has a nightmare while on a mission. His brothers are there for him. Set early season 3, after Clay returns.





	Swan Dive

**Author's Note:**

> So it's been a long while since I wrote something, but I adore Seal Team and this has been banging round my head for a while, so I thought why not. I don't own the show but I do own any mistakes. And a warning for mentions of suicide, and a little bad language. Thanks for reading :)

A phone is ringing.

Clay’s eyes dart to a duffel bag dumped by a parked car. The dust from the previous explosion hasn’t yet settled, swirling around him with the sounds of screaming, crying, sirens. His breath catches in his throat as he registers the danger. Too late. The bomb detonates and he is thrown through the air. Twisting. Turning. Spinning like he’s in a washing machine.

And then he slams down like a ragdoll filled with bricks back onto the filthy Manila street.

Lungs not working, jagged breaths hitching. The phone’s ringing replaced with ringing in his ears. The air around him cotton wool, suffocating and muffling sounds - suffocating him.

And then there’s the pain.

And the weight on his legs.

He can’t move his legs. Oh God, he can’t move them at all. Are they even still attached to the rest of his body?

He makes a jerky attempt to lift his head, take a look. They aren’t blown off, but they sure as hell feel like it. And there’s a body across them.

Now he can’t breathe for a different reason. Grief grips him as he recognizes the lifeless form.

Swanny.

Oh God, why?

His friend shouldn’t even be here, but he is. He’s here and his broken body is draped face-up across Clay’s blown apart legs. And there’s blood, bloomed like a rose across his chest and his shirt. And a gun in his limp hand.

And Clay knows, as sure as the night is black – it wasn’t the bomb that ended his friend’s life.

Tears burn his cheeks and run into his ears. The pain from his own injuries fades and is replaced by gut churning despair.

Why, Swanny? Why’d you do it? Why didn’t you tell me things were that bad?

Like a scene from a horror film, Swanny’s lifeless eyes snap open and his gaze bores through Clay’s own.

“You should have known, kid,” he says brokenly. “All the signs were there.” His eyes slip closed again. 

Clay’s stomach lurches. The physical pain is back, and coupled with the emotional pain, it’s hurtling towards unbearable. The ringing in his ears reaches fever pitch.

He screams along with it.

And then he’s falling…

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Sonny grunted awake at the soft whimpers filtering down from the bunk above him, as the old springy mattress squeaked with movement. Across the narrow room, he felt rather than saw Trent shift where he slept on the bottom bunk, also awake and alert. And Brock and Cerb on the bunk above – canine shifting with a mirrored whimper, listening, waiting.

None of them moved to wake Clay from the obvious nightmare, but they lay perched on the edge of intervention, should the need arise. Sonny felt his heart clench as Clay moved around, unsettled, moaning pitifully. Every inch of his being wanted to wake his brother, but he hesitated. Probably for the same reasons the others did as well.

This mission had taken it out of them, and they weren’t done yet. Teaming up with the local military in Thailand to take down a notorious group of people smugglers had seemed straightforward – until it wasn’t. Bad intel, cultural differences, and the God-awful weather had conspired to turn it into a complete shit show. Not to mention the fact that it was their first trip back to Southeast Asia since the Gucci mission from hell that nearly stole their youngest brother. Sonny had no doubt that he wasn’t the only one being assaulted with memories of that trip. And if it was eating at him, then Clay sure as hell would be feeling it, and Sonny would put a wager on the fact that it was possibly behind the kid’s current nightmare.

Another few choked whimpers from above him had his heart stutter. He wasn’t sure he could take any more. Sleep be damned, he was going to wake Clay up. It’s not like they were sleeping anyway, and his gut told him that the storm in Clay’s mind wouldn’t pass any time soon.

If only he’d acted on that instinct sooner.

Clay’s low whimper transformed suddenly into a cry, and before Sonny knew it, a flailing body fell past him and landed in a heap on the concrete floor, head hitting the ground last with an audible clunk and a startled grunt.

Oh fuck -

Sonny bolted off his mattress, propelled by adrenaline. Trent was a split second behind, and Brock all but threw himself down the ladder behind Cerberus.

“Get the lights,” Trent ordered, and Brock scrambled for the switch. “Clay? Hey, don’t move for a sec. Just lay still. Take it easy.” He knelt on one side of their dazed and shaking team mate, with Sonny on the other.

Clay had landed bum first, and then smacked down hard on his back. His head was thankfully spared the full impact, but that didn’t mean he’d escaped a concussion.

“You had better form when you dived from that burning rig,” Sonny attempted a joke. But the fragility of his own words betrayed how rattled he was. He had one hand on Clay’s shoulder, gently holding him down, his own hand joining in the tremors that gripped Clay’s sweaty form.

Clay didn’t reply with his usual snark, just lay there blinking against the light, red rimmed eyes damp and his bottom lip quivering. His chest hitched in a way that pulled Sonny back to the memory of Clay’s jagged breathing as he lay half dead in that damned Manila street. The older man had to close his eyes for a moment, draw a steadying breath and ground himself. His grip tightened marginally on Clay’s shoulder as he looked to Trent.

The medic was inspecting Clay’s eyes with a pen light.

The hell’d he magic that from? Trent must have been a boy scout, Sonny was sure of it.

“Pupils look okay,” Trent reported. His fingers gently lifted and probed the back of Clay’s head, which drew a wince. “Sorry. Yeah, that’s the spot.” He gently lowered Clay’s head, being sure to avoid the injured area, and quickly inspected the rest of him.

“Nothing appears broken or dislocated.” His eyes met Clay’s. “Any nausea?”

Clay swallowed thickly but managed to reply. “No.”

Sonny noticed Brock hovering just behind Trent, a steadying hand on Cerb who seemed to want to be checking Clay over himself. The door to the room flew open and a ruffled Jason and Ray appeared. Sonny guessed they’d heard the commotion from their room across the small central living area.

“The hell happened?” Jason demanded, eyes darting from the group on the floor to Clay’s bunk with the sheet half hanging down in a tangle. Sonny saw him put the pieces together in an instant. “Spenser fall out of bed?” Concern laced his tone and he stepped forward to get a better look at his youngest team member, who was now trying to sit up.

Sonny steadied Clay as he wobbled upright. Trent’s eyes were tracking the movement, seemingly torn on whether he thought it was a good idea or not. He settled for allowing Clay to sit but held him down when he attempted to stand.

“Nu-uh,” the medic stated firmly. “Go slow. Any pain? Dizzy?” He glanced over his shoulder at Brock. “There’s an ice pack in my med bag. Can you grab it?”

Brock was on it.

Jason leaned down in front of Clay, conducting his own assessment, brow furrowing.

Clay, for his part, seemed to have regained some composure, breathing more steadily, but still shaking. Sonny felt the trembles run through the kid’s body as shock gave way to embarrassment.

“I’m good,” Clay stated. But his voice was far too small, frayed around the edges. Still no snarky comment. “I’m, uh -” he seemed to search for words, hastily scrubbed a hand over his still damp eyes. Sniffed. “Sorry for waking you all. You should go back to bed. I’m okay, really.” He glanced at Sonny, but didn’t seem to meet anyone else’s gaze, eyes falling to the floor.

Brock handed Trent the ice pack, which was held against the bump on the back of Clay’s head.

Sonny felt Clay flinch.

“You good to hold this here a while?” Trent asked, watching Clay’s movements like a hawk as the younger reached shakily for the ice pack and held it in place. Trent’s eyes narrowed, but he seemed happy enough. “No nausea?” he double checked.

Clay shook his head slowly. “Think my ass will be sore for a week, but I’m okay.”

Sonny saw Jason’s eyes meet with Trent’s. Trent sighed, looked back at Clay.

“Need to get you a bedrail, kiddo,” Sonny quipped. 

That drew a small eye roll from the younger, and with help he slowly got to his feet. No one missed the stifled wince. “I, um, I think I just need to get some air.” He took a shaky step forward and detached himself from Sonny and Trent’s steadying hold, wavered a little, but remained upright.

Sonny wasn’t happy about the loss of contact but refrained from re-grabbing Clay’s shoulder. 

Glances were exchanged, and Jason stepped out of the way to let their boy pass. No one looked happy, but no one moved to stop him either.

Sonny guessed they were all feeling the same thing – that they were walking a fine line between wanting to protect Clay, and wanting to give him space to be the fully capable, skilled operator they all knew he was; not a kid brother they needed to babysit. But since Manila … Well, they’d all become a bit paranoid.

Sonny glanced around the room at his team mates and a sliver of humour snaked its way through him, quirking his lip. If someone had told him a couple of years ago that the men of Bravo, himself included, would become mother hens to a cocky little turd by the name of Clay Spenser, he would have howled with laughter – and probably punched them in the face. But now… Mother hens in overdrive is more like it, he thought to himself, shifting uncomfortably. Not that any of them would dare admit it. Kid’s ruined us.

… Or saved us.

“Keep the ice pack on.” Jason couldn’t help himself, gaining a grateful nod from Trent. “And stay close by, don’t wander too far off.”

Clay paused at the door and Sonny was pretty sure he heard a sarcastic “Yes Dad,” muttered under his breath, but if Jason noticed, he didn’t react. Although Sonny imagined he probably wouldn’t have pulled Clay up on it.

Sonny wanted so badly to follow Clay outside, but like his brothers, he stayed put. They all noticed how stiffly the youngest moved, and his demeaner. He was like a frightened rabbit. It was unnatural. Didn’t suit him. Sonny felt anxiety clench his gut but pushed it down with a steadying breath.

Once they heard the door squeak closed to indicate Clay had gone outside, Jason raked fingers through his hair. “I’m guessing he didn’t just roll the wrong way and topple out of bed,” he said, gaze skimming Trent, Brock and Sonny in turn.

Sonny leant against his and Clay’s bunk post. He was still shaking a little from the adrenaline and willed his body to calm down. He blew out a breath. “Nope,” he replied quietly.

Jason nodded, already knowing that would be the answer.

“I should’ve woken him,” Sonny continued, regretting not intervening sooner. “Sounded like a hell of a nightmare.”

A beat of silence. And then Ray voiced what they were all thinking. “Spense has got a hell of a lot of nightmare fuel just from these last eighteen months alone. Not surprised.”

They all nodded in sad agreement. Each one of them could relate. But Clay really had had a terrible run. First losing his best friend Brian, then his mentor Adam, then Stella, then getting blown up and facing the possibility of losing his place on the team, then Swanny… Sonny felt a lump in his throat. It was a lot. For anyone. Even the best of them.

“Don’t really like leaving him out there,” Sonny stated.

It appeared they were all in agreement on that one.

“He needs space.” Although Jason didn’t look convinced either. He glanced in the direction Clay had wandered.

Cerberus whined at Brock’s side.

Even the dog’s become a hen, Sonny thought, amused. But then his thoughts sobered and he looked to Jason. “Think he’ll be alright?”

Jason huffed quietly. “Physically? Yes.”

“That ain’t what I was asking.”

Jason nodded. He knew that.

“We’ll make sure he’s alright.” Ray stepped forward and pinned them all with a look, somehow managing to sound convincing. Although that was Ray – always calm, reassuring, and grounding. There was a reason he was Bravo Two.

Sonny glanced at the tangle of sheets still hanging down from Clay’s bed. Jason must have followed his gaze because he said, “Sonny, you think you could switch with the kid so we don’t have a repeat performance?”

“Don’t need to ask me twice,” replied the Texan. “Shaved about ten years off my life, seeing him fall like that.”

Trent quirked a smile. “Pretty sure we’ve all lost years because of him. And not just tonight.”

There was unanimous agreement, some half-mast smiles.

Damn straight.

Jason cleared his throat and glanced once more in Clay’s direction, chewing briefly on his lip. “You lot get back to sleep. Don’t forget we head out early tomorrow.” He paused and then caught Sonny’s eyes. “I’ll go check on Spenser and make sure he hasn’t toppled over in the dirt somewhere.”

Sonny nodded, grateful.

“Make sure he’s keeping ice on his head,” Trent instructed sternly.

“I’ll kick his ass if he isn’t,” Jason replied, though his threat lacked heat. “Check him over again in the morning will you. Let me know if you think he needs to sit out tomorrow.”

Trent nodded. “Was already planning to.” Of course he was.

Jason threw one more glance at the tangled sheets that Sonny was now pulling from the top bunk, ready to exchange with his own.

Sonny’s hands still trembled slightly, and he paused, clenching the sheet in his fist. He remembered their first deployment, when he’d ordered Clay’s punk ass to the top bunk. No way was Sonny climbing all the way up there. A bottom bunk came along with his position in the team. He’d worked his way through the ranks, and Clay could do the same as far as he was concerned. Now, however, he was happy to give the kid the bottom bunk every damn time if it meant he was safe.

Damn you, kid, he thought again. You’ve made me all soft. I nearly can’t stand myself.

His gaze followed Jason and Ray as they left the room. The three remaining men – and a dog - stared at each other, each knowing full well that they wouldn’t follow through on Jason’s order. They would return to their beds, sure. But there was no way they were sleeping until Clay came back in. And even then, they’d probably sleep with one eye open, keeping watch over him.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Jason paused as the door squeaked closed behind him and breathed in the thick night air. He’d lost count of how many times Sonny had complained about the humidity, the stuffiness here. The Texan had really amped up the complaints on this mission, but in all honesty, Jason couldn’t blame him. They were miserable and wanted to go home. He was pleading their case to pull the pin, but even Blackburn with all his influences couldn’t swing it. They would be here for a while longer, at least.

Scanning the dimly lit 2am camp from the wooden stairs leading to their sleeping quarters, he caught sight of a silhouetted mop of curly hair hunched down in one of the uncomfortable camp chairs that had been set up around the barrel bonfire. He felt relieved that Clay had listened to him, for once, and had not wandered far. 

Boots crunching on gravel, Jason made his way over to the glowing barrel. It was there for light, not heat, and no one bothered stoking it much. At present it only held glowing embers and a few small pieces of wood, enough to illuminate the ring of chairs set up around it. Earlier they had sat here having a few drinks, Sonny complaining about coconuts and Trent rattling off the various water-borne illnesses one could catch in the area. Things had been reasonably normal – at least, as normal as they could be these days, with everyone keeping one eye firmly on their rookie, as if they were all terrified he would vanish if they let their guard down… Just like he had in Manila.

Jason studied the figure sitting quietly. He hadn’t been worried that Clay wasn’t ready to return to active duty. The kid had proven that he was more than ready, which had been both surprising and admirable. But Jason knew more than anyone that even after physical injuries healed and scars faded, there were often unseen wounds that took a lot longer to heal – sometimes, not ever healing completely. He personally had more than his fair share shadowing his heart. In their line of work, it was a given. He wasn’t sure if he’d become better at dealing with his own demons and ghosts over time, or if he was kidding himself and one day it would all catch up to him and the card tower would come crashing down. All he knew was that if it weren’t for his brothers, he would have sunk already. Just as he was sure that, in their own personal way, each of them felt the same.

With a sigh he rounded Clay’s chair and stopped beside the younger man.

Clay wasn’t quick to shift his gaze from the fire. He blinked rapidly a couple of times, and when his eyes finally did meet Jason’s they were glassy with unshed tears.

Jason didn’t comment, just waited another heartbeat before snagging the discarded ice pack from Clay’s lap. He placed it gently in Clay’s hand and curled the kid’s still trembling fingers around it. “Don’t make me go get Trent,” he grumbled, guiding Clay’s hand to the bump on his head. “Ice stays put. Ill tie it to your head if I need to.” His words were firm, but he was sure that his concern came through.

One thing Jason had learnt from being a parent was that whenever his kids were struggling and he wanted them to open up, he had to approach them slowly, not push too hard. Whenever he pushed too hard, especially with Emma, the walls would come up and he’d have no hope of reaching her.

In a strange way, Clay and Emma had a lot in common. Both had a bit of fire within them, a spark. Emma had always been that way – reluctant to show vulnerability, hiding insecurities behind stubbornness and bravado. Hot headed. (Gee, he had no idea where his daughter got that from.) In a way he felt partially responsible for Emma’s defense mechanisms and the fierce way she guarded her heart. He fully acknowledged that his kids had had to adapt to having him gone for extended periods of time, sometimes leaving at the drop of a hat - however he was far from an absent parent and he loved his children more than anything in the world. Unlike Clay’s father. Just the thought of Ash Spenser sent Jason’s knuckles tingling with the so far unsatisfied urge to punch the man. He fully blamed the ex-frogman for fucking up Clay’s childhood, and whether Clay would admit it or not, Jason had no doubt that his rookie’s parents abandoning him and shipping him off to Africa was when Clay started building his walls and defense mechanisms. Unlike Emma, Clay’s walls were much more solid and harder to crack. But the kid was learning, slowly.

Jason took a seat. God these damn chairs are uncomfortable. Or perhaps he was just getting old. He shifted, seeking a better position, but it was useless. Eventually he gave up and sat leaning forward, elbows resting on his thighs, hands clasped between his knees.

Seconds passed.

Minutes.

Neither man said a word.

Jason jiggled his knee. Staring into the fire was making him realize how tired his eyes were. He glanced at Clay for the hundredth time, trying to read the younger man’s expression. Clay shifted slightly, swapped the ice pack to the other hand, winced as he held it once again on the sore spot. Jason noticed that he wasn’t trembling as badly. His breathing was more even, measured. He’d regained control of his emotions once again and had reigned them back in, compartmentalized – and damn weren’t they all good at that – and his eyes had lost their glassiness. Now he just looked tired, in a bone-weary kind of way.

Jason sighed and scooted his chair closer. He plucked the ice pack from Clay’s hand and took over holding it against the bump.

Clay hesitated but didn’t move to grab it back. He dropped his hand into his lap and his whole body sagged. “Thanks,” he breathed, and closed his eyes for a second.

Jason didn’t take his eyes off him. “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that it’s been a while since you’ve had a decent night’s sleep.”

Clay huffed, eyes still closed.

Jason scrubbed his free hand over his stubble. “Trent could get you something, if you need help to sleep,” he offered.

But Clay didn’t look convinced. “Doubt it’d help,” he stated defeatedly. He opened his eyes and stared back into the glow. “I’m tired enough to sleep, but every time I close my eyes I’m stuck in a horror film reply of …” His words trailed off. He didn’t finish the sentence.

“Manila?” Jason guessed after a few heartbeats.

Clay chewed his lip, nodded slowly. “Yeah. That, and …”

Jason waited patiently, adjusting the ice pack, careful not to press too hard – both on the wound, and for an answer. Just like his chats with Emma; slow and cautious, like approaching a wild animal, not wanting to trigger its fight or flight mode.

Clay cleared his throat, his composure slipping slightly. His hands rubbed absently along his thighs, almost mirroring a habit Jason had formed since Nate’s death. “Uh,” he continued shakily. “I see the bomb, but I also see Swanny.” His voice faltered on their late friend’s name, and his eyes finally met Jason’s.

Jason was caught off guard by the brokenness the blue gaze held.

“I, uh,” Clay tried, failed, cleared his throat again. “I’ve seen him in my dreams a couple of times. He always says the same thing, that… uh… that I should have known he was in a bad place, and, um…” His words died on his lips, which were now trembling again. He sucked in a shaky breath and the glow from the fire reflected off the tears forming in his eyes. He tried to blink them away, but one escaped. He quickly scrubbed it off his cheek.

Jason read between the lines. He lowered the ice pack. It was probably enough ice for now anyway. “You know what happened to Swanny wasn’t your fault, right?” He ventured, his words slow and clear.

Clay chewed his lip. He looked like he wanted to say yes, but instead shook his head jerkily. Another wayward tear was scrubbed away. Eyes fell to the gravel and he rocked slightly.

Jason’s heart broke. This was vulnerable Clay – the Clay from behind the wall. He looked so damned young, and for a moment Jason felt angry with the universe for all it had piled on the kid; the events and losses from the past year and a half, right back to his parents failing him as a child. Jason wanted to wrap him in a hug like he would do his own kids when they reached this point in the conversation. But Clay was a trained tier one operator, one of the most accurate and lethal snipers Jason had ever met – a hug seemed inappropriate. And yet… since Clay had joined Bravo things hadn’t exactly been ‘typical’. Somehow their rookie had brought an element of humanity to their tight knit group. Hell, the kid had even tamed the wild Sonny Quinn.

Jason took a grounding breath and chose his words carefully, his tone gentle. “It wasn’t your fault, Clay,” he said. “Swanny decided to do what he did, for reasons we’ll never fully understand. He was sick. He knew it. There’s no way he’d want you blaming yourself. I know for a fact that meeting you was one of the best things that could have happened to him.”

Clay didn’t look convinced.

Jason continued. “The rest of us, you know, we feel the burden too. We knew him for longer than you and we never saw it coming.” He sighed heavily. “We owe him a lot, and I wish I had a chance to tell him. We’re so grateful that he was there for you when we couldn’t be.” He paused to let his words sink in. 

Clay quirked his lip, but his words were devoid of humour. “I wasn’t exactly good company during that time.” 

Jason didn’t miss a beat. “Didn’t mean we wouldn’t have given anything to be with you. Swanny stepped in for all of us. And I’m confident that Sonny was worse company than you were. Honestly,” he paused, remembering the state the Texan had been in while they had been separated from Clay. “I was damn near close to shooting him myself so that he could join you.”

Clay snorted.

Jason felt a small amount of tension leave the air.

“No,” he continued, voice softening, “in all seriousness it wasn’t just Sonny who was in a state. We all were.” He pinned Clay with a level look. “We care about you.” Their conversation from the bar in Manila that fateful night drifted back to him. “Better than brothers, right?”

Clay held the gaze, eyes glistening. Nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice a little husky.

Jason leaned back in his chair, looked up at the sky. The stars were there somewhere, but it appeared the clouds had come over as a raindrop landed on his forehead. He wiped it away. “You know,” he said, as another drop hit the top of his head when he returned his gaze to the fire, “I’ve lost count of the number of buddies I’ve lost over the years.” He could feel Clay’s eyes on him. “But every time, I’ve been able to take the grief and pain out on someone, or something. Get revenge.”

He met Clay’s eyes briefly. There was sad understanding in them.

“It never brought my friends back,” Jason continued, his voice not nearly as steady as he’d hoped. “But it helped me feel some sort of closure.” Absently he pulled on his ring finger, and then stopped abruptly when he realized what he was doing. “When Alana died…” He paused, searching for the right words. “It caught me so off guard because there was no one to fight. No one to take down.” He swallowed his emotions as they threatened to bubble up. “There was no one to blame.”

A glance to Clay confirmed that the younger man understood what he was getting at.

“It was just an awful thing that happened out of the blue, and I couldn’t have done a damned thing to stop it.” Focusing on the fire helped keep Jason in the present moment. The last thing he wanted to do was unravel in front of the kid. But trust was a two-way street. “I was in a bad place after that,” he confessed. “I went and saw a shrink, but I was just going through the motions. It didn’t help.” He took a steadying breath. “What did help,” he speared Clay with a weighty look. “Was knowing my team had my back.”  
Clay once again did his best to intercept the tears that threatened to fall.

“My brothers had my back,” Jason clarified. “And it still makes no sense why it had to happen, but at least some of the pain is gone. Because I was carried by people who cared about me when I couldn’t carry myself, and they were patient with me and didn’t give up on me.” He glanced back towards their quarters where the rest of his men were sleeping (or not, as Jason guessed was probably the case) and nodded. “Because that’s what family does.”

He watched Clay for a while as his rookie processed the words. If anyone had told him a couple of years ago that a cocky little turd named Clay Spenser would come into his team and turn him into a softie, he would have howled with laughter – and probably punched them in the face.

Neither said anything for a minute, but then Clay spoke up.

“Roger that, boss.” He bobbed his head tiredly.

Jason’s lip quirked, and he nodded back.

The night was getting on, and they had an early start. Not that he was certain Clay would be joining them, given his current state. Jason handed back the ice pack. Clay’s eyes were sagging, and a small amount of tension had left his body. He wasn’t sitting so stiffly.

“I don’t know about you,” Jason said, groaning as he stood up and his muscles protested from being cramped in the uncomfortable chair. “But I think it’s as good a time as any to head back.”

Clay hesitated, but nodded. 

“How’s the head?” Jason asked seriously as he helped the younger man to his feet, watching him sway slightly.

Clay recovered and stifled a wince as he stretched his back. “I’ve had worse.”

Jason let him pass, but quickly followed, making sure he was close behind in case the kid wobbled over. “Ice pack on your head,” he ordered. “I have no doubt Trent will be sleeping with one eye open, ready to ride your ass if you’ve slacked off.”

Clay huffed, and Jason didn’t have to be looking at him to know he’d rolled his eyes at the comment.

Just before they reached the squeaky door, Clay paused. He turned back to look at Jason, genuine gratitude in his eyes.

Jason cut him off with a nod before he had a chance to speak. That’s what family’s for. Not that Clay had ever experienced much of that growing up.

It was one thing he felt that he and his team were determined to change for their youngest brother.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Clay parted ways with Jason in the living area and snuck into the room that housed Bravo’s three, four and five. He heard Cerberus shift as he entered, his eyes slow to adjust to the dim light. And Bravo seven. He couldn’t help but smile when he realized the dog was waiting for him on what had previously been Sonny’s bunk.

The Texan lay on his back on Clay’s former bunk, breathing deeply.

Clay took a deep breath and crawled as slowly as he could into his bed. Cerb scooted out of the way, and then re-settled by his legs, watching over him. Clay’s hand drifted to pet soft ears, and he received a quick lick on his fingers. He couldn’t deny that it helped ground him, made him just a little less terrified to close his eyes.

Jason’s words echoed in his head. He held onto them like a lifeline. The ice pack was annoying, and he thought about discarding it, but one glance toward their probably-not-sleeping medic had him change his mind and he did his best to wedge it gently against his bump.

“You do that to me again, Goldilocks, and I’ll damn well throw your ass off of something myself.”

The Texan drawl filtered down from above him, but the words were laced with concern, not anger. It was Sonny’s way of showing affection.

Clay allowed a small smile to ghost his lips.

“Don’t you dare throw away that ice pack.” Trent.

“And just so you know, I’ve ordered Cerb to sit on your face at the first sign of any bad dream.” Brock.

Clay couldn’t help the small laugh.

If someone had told him a couple of years ago that he would be rolling with Bravo and that at some point he’d fall out of bed because of a nightmare, he would have shrunk with embarrassment – and probably punched them in the face.

“Try to get some sleep, kiddo,” Sonny said gently. “We’ve got your back.”

Cerberus’ tail thumped briefly against the mattress in agreement.

For the first time in a long time, Clay closed his eyes and drifted easily into sleep.


End file.
